


Kisses in a Pocket

by elwinglyre



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Lord of the Rings, M/M, Riddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 04:55:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8190917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elwinglyre/pseuds/elwinglyre
Summary: "What is in my pocket, and yet is nothing?"Sam chewed on the leftover toast from first breakfast, pondering Mr. Frodo's question. Sam was never good at riddles. Not that he didn't enjoy a good brain twister.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because of Bilbo and his love for riddles. I tried to think of an original one, but I'm afraid I used one I knew as a child. Still, I changed it a bit for this story.

"What is in my pocket, and yet is nothing?"  
  
Sam chewed on the leftover toast from first breakfast, pondering Mr. Frodo's question. Sam was never good at riddles. Not that he didn't enjoy a good brain twister. Since Bilbo left, Frodo needed someone to quiz and pose with, and Sam tried his best to banter about with his master. Frodo asked and insisted Sam ask him riddles also. Sam tried; however, gardening was more to his liking. He liked simple. Plants sprout, soak in sun, drink up rain and grow. This making up his own puzzles weren't to Sam's liking. He'd rather Mr. Frodo talk of elves or read to him or maybe sing one of them elvish tales than have to make up his own riddles.  
  
'And what's the sense of it if Mr. Frodo solves them as soon as they pass from my own lips?' Sam wondered.  
  
Simple riddles. Simple Sam.  
  
True, Frodo's love for quizzing Sam sharpened Sam's ability to answer. Sam didn't begrudge Mr. Frodo that.  
  
Frodo generally asked Sam a riddle every few days. There were days Sam solved them, and days he didn't. Some days Sam wondered if his master didn't enjoy outwitting him a little too much-- like this breezy Astron day. He'd much rather be out turning the soil, preparing the garden than solving a riddle. Then there's Mr. Frodo bobbing back and forth, acting all sure he'd confounded Sam. If he didn't have such respect and honor for Mr. Frodo, he'd give him a piece of his mind for teasing him so. But he's Mr. Frodo.  
  
"I'll give you plenty of time to think on that Sam," Frodo said, bouncing across the room. "Sit down and finish the toast." Sam took a seat in Bilbo's study, searching his brain for possible answers. The solution is usually laughingly simple. Mr. Frodo watched him, his eyes sparkling. Sam's steady gaze rested on Frodo's hidden left hand, jangling inside his trouser pocket. Frodo smirked.  
  
"What is in my pocket, and yet is nothing?" Frodo repeated, scratching his nails inside his pocket .  
  
Sam blushed. Looking in that region of Mr. Frodo's body didn't put him in the mind for solving riddles.  
  
Sam popped the crust into his mouth and looked up.  
  
"Have I stumped you, Sam?" Frodo asked. "Do you give up?" Sam licked his fingers.  
  
"No sir, not yet. I have some work to do outside. I think best with birds singing and leaves sprouting around me. If you don't mind, I'll answer either way before I go home this evening."  
  
"Of course I don't mind," answered Frodo. "Before you leave, Sam, could you please open the window?"  
  
"Yes sir," Sam stood up. Maybe opening the window was a hint to the solution. Mr. Frodo did that sometimes. Played with him by dangling the solution in front of him. His hand fidgeting in his pocket was most likely another clue. It also felt like something else. It felt close in this room. Too close. Sam freed the window. A fresh breeze filled the stuffy room.  
  
Yes, he needed to go outside in the garden to think. Watching Mr. Frodo with his hand twitching in his pocket was far too distracting.  
  
Sam loved spring. The air smelled of dew and fresh grass. All was new. Buds and blossoms forming, newborn calves and lambs spotting the hills. Sam tended his own garden nursery. Soon Sam could move his young sprouts into their final homes. Until then, he lightly weeded and watered the babes each day.  
  
Being in such company, helps a body to think.  
  
However, as Sam thinned out the radish seedlings, he thought more about Frodo's hand in his pocket than the riddle about his pocket. Those weren't thoughts he should not be planting in his mind-- they might take hold and sprout like this gill-over-the-ground Sam weeded. Beautiful ground cover, but it blankets the land, choking every new-sprung seed. Wishing for and wanting were fine, but these thoughts of fancy about his master weren't right. Solving the riddle, that's where his mind needed tending. 'What's in his pocket, and yet is nothing?' Sam wondered. The more Sam pondered; the farther the answer seemed, and the nearer Sam came to thinking of what was underneath them pockets. And it weren't nothing.  
  
\------------------  
  
Sam's stomach rumbled. The savory smell of Frodo's evening meal wandered out of Bag End. One whiff told Sam it was time to go inside and admit he didn't know the riddle's answer. Mayhap get a taste of them leeks and taters. A bit of ham on the side would be nice, too. He pumped icy water over his hands and head. As he washed, he heard Mr. Frodo singing. He decided not to go just yet and stood outside listening. Since he was young, he'd loved Mr. Frodo's sweet, silvery voice. Full and melodic, he sang in high elvish. Sam remembered a time when Frodo enjoyed sharing his songs and tales. Sam loved his lyrical offerings. Seems, now Mr. Frodo avoided such things. Maybe it reminded his master of Bilbo or maybe he thought Samwise was too old for such nonsense. Either way, Sam missed those days dearly. Hearing him singing all happy and resplendent in the kitchen made Sam feel wistful.  
  
Sam washed and dried his hands then went inside.  
  
"Sam," Frodo said, waving him into a chair. "Sit down. I made enough for both of us."  
  
"Thank you, sir."  
  
Frodo served them both healthy helpings of small fried potatoes and ham with thick slices of apples and cheese. The both chewed silently, each weighing the other. Samwise polished his plate and got up to clear the table. Frodo lazily watched him, then gave him a quick wink and stood up, stretching. Frodo silently helped Sam, stacking the dishes in the sink while Sam fetched the water in the cast iron pot. Frodo poured the scalding water over the heaping plates, and Sam poured in a bit of cool to the water to temper the mix. Sam scrubbed while Frodo dried, both deep in thought.  
  
"How's the spring gardening coming?" Frodo asked with a satisfied smile, putting away the last plate. He knew Sam hadn't solved the riddle.  
  
Frodo cleared his throat. Sam recollected another time Mr. Frodo cleared his throat just like that. But Mr. Frodo weren't going to sing now.  
  
"Do you have the answer?" asked Frodo. "Last chance."  
  
"I don't know Mr. Frodo-- Let me guess. Umm, lint?"  
  
"No," Frodo grinned. "Try again."  
  
"I give up. What is in your pocket, and yet is nothing?" Sam waited, fitting his gaze on his master.  
  
"A hole," Frodo answered. He yanked his trouser pocket inside out, sticking his index finger through the tear.  
  
"I think you're ripping it more," Sam observed.  
  
"Hmm. So I am. I'll have to mend it," Frodo said. "I did stump you, didn't I Samwise?"  
  
"Yes, Mr. Frodo. It's a very good riddle indeed, but why don't you let me sew that up for you? I don't want you sticking yourself with needles again."  
  
"Really Sam," Frodo said. "I could fix this myself, but if you insist-- I'll take them off so you may mend them." Sam flushed. "I'll be back in a moment."  
  
Sam took a seat again, rubbing the table cloth betwixt his fingers as he waited. What was he thinking? That Frodo would strip for him to his altogether in the kitchen? Still, he languished, thinking on such a situation, and what it might bring. Much more desirable than Frodo's hand in his pocket. Now, if Mr. Frodo put his hand in Sam's pocket--  
  
This time Sam cleared his own throat. Frodo returned dressed in fresh trousers, holding a needle, tread and his torn breeches.  
  
"Would you like some tea?" asked Frodo. "I'm going to make some for myself." Sam nodded, taking the mending from Mr. Frodo. He laid the breeches out on his lap, reversing them to get to the pocket. He thought about where the fine weave pressed and strained against his master. He smoothed out the creases, fingering the fabric. With a shaky hand, he threaded the needle. Sam looked up. Frodo busied himself with the tea. For that Sam was happy-- the breeches could conceal only so much in his lap.  
  
"Sam? Is something amiss?" Frodo asked, setting the tea down. Sam jumped, sticking his thumb. "Sam! I told you I could do the mending. I could have stuck myself as well as you." Sam bowed his head.  
  
"Naught but a small prick. There," said Sam, knotting the thread and biting it off. "Finished." He handed Frodo the breeches and scooted his body under the table to hide his throbbing predicament.  
  
Sam took large gulps of tea, burning his mouth. Wasn't proper to be sitting here thinking about his master in such as way. No matter how he tried to stay his thoughts, his mind crept back to Mr. Frodo's breeches, and Mr. Frodo's body taut against them. As soon as Sam tempered his lascivious thoughts, he begged his leave.  
  
"Must you go so soon? I thought we might enjoy some Old Toby together." Sam's heart shot to his mouth. He longed to stay, but the longer he delayed the more likely Mr. Frodo would realize Samwise's misplaced lust.  
  
"Just a moment, before you leave. I have my dirty laundry for Marigold to wash," Frodo said, running to gather the laundry. Standing and waiting was agony. Mr. Frodo would be certain to see now. Sam heard clanks and clunks from the bedroom and then more bangs and booms from the study. What could he be doing?  
  
Mr. Frodo returned huffing, handing Sam the bundle. Sam nervously took the bag from his master.  
  
"Thank you, Sam," he said and winked. "And don't hurry home."  
  
Sam took Mr. Frodo's advice. He picked his way home, kicking at stones and listening the meadow larks. Still, his mind lurked at the edge of the more intimate attire inside the package. There were more than breeches in this bag. In the past Sam indulged in touching his master's under garments. Sam knew it was wrong, but the urge was too strong. Today, Sam staid his hand and didn't look or touch, but he closed his eyes, imagining. He was hot and hard and needed relief. Someone in Number Three would see and comment crudely if Sam returned with a huge bulge in his breeches. Marigold would tease him for sure. Sam stepped off the path and put down the laundry. He unceremoniously unbuttoned his pants and pulled himself out. He roughly gripped his sex, seeking hurried relief. He daydreamed of Frodo's hands, and how they might feel on Sam's lips, his chest, his hard cock. Sam came with a gasp.  
  
\-------------------  
  
He brought back Frodo's laundry unmolested two days later. Least wise, Sam thought, Mr. Frodo's clothes are pure. Marigold, winking and giggling, as Sam trudged out the door this morning made Sam wonder if she knew what thoughts were in Sam's head. All yesterday, Sam shyly avoided Mr. Frodo, afraid his body would betray his heart. Sam felt shameful after spending himself at the side of the road.  
  
Just thinking now of the riddle and Mr. Frodo's hands, he hardened. What kind of friend and gardener was he? As he walked up to Bag End, Sam carried the bundle in front of him. All was quiet inside. Mr. Frodo still in bed. Sam crept like cat down the hall. He heard movement in his master's room.  
  
Frodo met him at the bedroom door, taking the laundry from Samwise.  
  
Behind Frodo, Sam saw the sheet on his master's bed crumpled and tossed about. He didn't mean to stare at the bed, or think of Frodo beneath him them sheets, singing heated words in melodious elven whispers. He didn't mean to imagine Frodo's light touches, or how his master's lips might taste, or how Frodo might moan and move beneath him.  
  
Sam sighed as he stared on at Mr. Frodo's roomy bed. With a jerk, Sam froze. His master's gaze fell, now aware of Sam's aroused state.  
  
Mr. Frodo's hair was mussed and his nightshirt clung to his lean curves. His mouth twitched as his wide blue eyes traveled from Sam's crotch to Samwise's face. Sam shifted his weight from his left foot to his right, hoping this would make his erection less noticeable. Once glance down, and Sam saw that it was all too obvious.  
  
"I have a new riddle today Sam," Frodo said slowly. "What is in your pocket, and yet is not yours?" Sam felt a slow burn spread from in his face to in between his toes.  
  
Sam opened his mouth, but words refused him. What must Mr. Frodo be thinking of him?  
  
"Well Sam, I'm not going to wait until evening for the answer today. Do you know?" Frodo asked.  
  
"Yes sir, I think I do." Sam choked. "Could the answer be, your hand?" Mr. Frodo dropped the bag and stepped close to Samwise, brushing against him.  
  
"My hand," he whispered into Sam's ear. "Now, you are very clever. And correct. The answer is my hand. Now, what reward should you receive? Mayhap, this very hand?" With that Frodo slid his fingers down into Sam's pocket and brushed his palm against Sam's heat.  
  
"Sam, what's this? Here," Frodo asked, fondling Sam's sex, sending shudders through them both. "I believe there maybe a hole in your pocket, too. Why don't you remove your breeches for proper mending?"  
  
"Yes, that sounds a fine idea," Sam said, unbuttoning his trousers and kicking them aside. Frodo retraced his hand, sliding Sam's undergarments off his hips to his feet. Beads of sweat patterned Frodo's upper lip. Sam moaned as Frodo hand began to memorize his length, his thickness. Frodo's palm laid flat against his cock, working up to a slow pet. Moaning, Frodo curled his hand around Sam.  
  
"Mmm, Sam. I've another riddle," Frodo purred.  
  
"What might that be?" Sam sighed.  
  
"What is made every morn and undone every night?"  
  
Sam grew thicker and harder, pushing against Frodo's hand. "A bed?" choked Sam.  
  
"My bed," said Frodo-- "and it's so soft. Would you like to find out how soft?" Sam could only nod. Frodo lead Sam over, unbuttoning Sam's shirt as they made their way to the bed and then helped him down onto the soft mattress.  
  
"Another riddle," Frodo said. "I'm light as a feather, yet the strongest can't hold me for much more than a minute. What am I?"  
  
"Um," Sam said, feeling Frodo replace his hand, moving faster and with a firmer grip. "Don't know."  
  
"Your breath," whispered Frodo, taking Sam's away as he bent in and savoring his lips.  
  
Sam felt a wave of panic. Too late. "I'm sorry," Sam whispered. "I didn't mean to be so quick."  
  
"Sorry? Why this is only the beginning," Frodo said, lifting his nightshirt over his head.  
  
Sam met Frodo's eyes and held them and let his fingertips explore Frodo's lips, tracing their outline. He tenderly brushed Frodo's jaw with his lips, then replaced his fingers with his mouth. Frodo kissed him again. Mouths hungry, exploring. Sam felt passion in him rise in his loins again as he reached for Frodo, both whimpering in pleasure.  
  
Sam felt him shiver.  
  
"Please more," Frodo moaned.  
  
"What? No more riddles?" Sam asked, pressing his body into Frodo's-- heat moving against heat. Sam's slick cock and belly helped to create a delicious friction. Frodo's desperate kisses and hoarse moans intensified. He knew Frodo was close. Then he felt his tempestuous release warm and glossy between them. Frodo's damp curls clung to Sam's neck. His mouth tasted salty sweet; Sam wanted more.  
  
"No riddle, but a question?" Frodo stammered. "Have you ever made love to a lad before?" Frodo moved again beneath. Sam's breath hitched, he'd never wanted anything as much as this.  
  
"No, but I've heard tell how to, if that's what you mean," Sam answered, pushing his knee twixt Frodo's legs.  
  
"I've heard that there is this special place inside, hidden? Do you think you could find it?"  
  
"Another riddle?" Sam said, hair mussed. "I promise to try my best to solve it."  
  
"I want you-- to feel you moving inside me," Frodo said, burying his face into Sam's neck. "Please. I've never done this before," Sam's heart raced to know he was the first, and Frodo was his. He did know he had to prepare Frodo. He ran his fingers across Frodo's stomach, slick and wet from the both of them. Sam carefully tested his opening.  
  
"There is some oil in the nightstand," Frodo suggested, with a trembling smile.  
  
Sam moved his hands to that drawer and pulled out the amber bottle of oil. Curious, his master having the oil right there. Frodo watched, swallowing hard as Sam opened the bottle and spread some on his hands and worked the oil the entire length of him. Noting his masters excited reaction to touching himself, Sam kneaded and stroked all the more. Then turning his attentions to Frodo, Sam spread apart his master leg's and reverently positioning his hips. Laying along side Frodo, he admired his soft skin and lithe body, cupping his testicles and gently kneading them. He lightly kissed his bottom lip, rousing Frodo's tongue to push into Sam's mouth. Sam moved his hand lower to the opening he sought. Frodo pushed into Sam's hand, moaning. Sam felt Frodo's body respond, trembling with excitement and lust. Samwise Gamgee ached, knowing he was the reason for this intense passion. He mouth sought Frodo's ear, nipping and flicking his tongue. Frodo gasped, and Sam pushed a second finger inside, exploring.  
  
Yes, he loved him. He loved Frodo. He'd always loved him. Now, he could show that love, by exploring and giving him pleasure. He needed to say the words. He needed for Frodo to know. Yet he was afraid. Maybe this was too soon.  
  
Then he found the spot that shook Frodo to his very core, crying out. And Sam shook too. Sam moved his fingers on the same spot, sending Frodo moaning again. He wanted to be inside Frodo as much Frodo wanted Sam to be inside him. To connect in this way, so complete. He slipped his fingers out. With his cock slick and willing, he guided himself, relaxing himself to keep from plunging himself into his love, his desire.  
  
At first, Frodo's body resisted. Afraid he would hurt Frodo, afraid to push too hard. Then Frodo's body yielded, half enveloped inside, Sam panted. He consciously began to breath slowly in and out to steady himself-- to keep from surrounding and sealing himself deep into this incredibly tight heat. Frodo panted and moaned beneath him, clutching Sam's back. Better than all his daydreams combined. Then Sam felt Frodo became less frantic, pushing into Sam. With a jolt, he was completely inside Frodo, moving slow. He seemed to have awakened a hidden fire within Frodo. Frodo grabbed handfuls of Sam's hair and Frodo's teeth raked at Sam's upper lip.  
  
Sam moved his sex inside Frodo, his Frodo, quickening with each thrust. He felt a sudden clenching, Frodo moaned, "Sam, there. Do that again," and Sam slid into him at the precise angle, sending Frodo quivering and seeking his Samwise's mouth. Frodo's tongue and frantic thrusts were ready to send Sam over the top. Then, Frodo's body tensed and he came, sending Sam over the edge.  
  
They remained together, sweating and panting. Both hugging the other tight. Frodo resting his face in the curve of Sam's neck.  
  
Sam didn't think life could ever be better than this.  
  
"So glad my note worked," said Frodo.  
  
"What note was that?" Sam asked.  
  
"The note in the laundry bag," Frodo answered, looking at Sam oddly. "You never read the note?" Frodo sat up. "Then, all this happened between us and you never--"  
  
"No wonder Marigold gave me such an odd look," Sam said, concerned. "What was in the note?"  
  
"Not to worry, unless Marigold is good with riddles." Sam felt Frodo's soft butterfly kisses on his neck. "The riddle was:  
  
Some warm and some cold,  
I hope yours is bold.  
Some soft and some kind,  
They get better with time.  
  
They meet, and they part,  
When they come from the heart.  
Two placed on two:  
I'll share one with you.  
  
  
"Sam? Do you know the answer?"  
  
"Aye, I do," Sam said. "I'm not as good with riddles or words as you are, but I know a kiss, and I'll share one with you now if you don't mind." Sam smiled as Frodo closed his eyes.  
  
"No Sam, I don't mind. Mmm."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr: [**elwinglyre Tumblr**](https://elwinglyre.tumblr.com/)!


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